Tigers vs. Cards

Zachary (circa 1988) ©2006 Patrick T. Power

This year's World Series is a bit special for me. Of, course, it's special for any Tiger fan considering the rarity with which the team gets to the playoffs, much less the Series, but this year is the first time my son gets to see the Tigers in the Series after having been a huge fan of theirs since he knew what baseball was about.

For me, one of the coolest things about Zachary getting to see the Tigers play at this time of year is that the last time the Tigers made it to the World Series, he was there — in his mother's womb. In what was probably one of the worst baseball games I've ever had to sit through (San Diego pitchers set a record with eleven walks; if memory serves, there was a hit batsman in there as well), Penny and I, her whole family and then some had what were probably the worst seats in Tiger Stadium — in the lower deck grandstand in right-center field. I recall that I was able to see third base, second base, the pitcher, the right fielder and (every once and again) the centerfielder. I recall that there was a miniature television in our section toward which we and others would occasionally crane our necks.

We did manage to see Marty Castillo's home run land in the upper deck in left field, as well as Chet Lemon making a nice over the shoulder catch of a drive to deep center off the bat of San Diego's catcher, Terry Kennedy. Frankly, we didn't see much else.

The Tigers won, of course, 5-2, and took a two games to one lead in the Series, then went on to win the next two games and the Series.

It was the year that Darrell Evans hit a home run in his first at bat as a Tiger (in the Metrodome in Minnesota) and with his first swing of the bat in Tiger Stadium. I can still vividly recall the excitement in the voice of the Tigers' radio announcer, Ernie Harwell, as he called that home run... I recall thinking at that time that he knew something special was about to happen to the Tigers that season.

I'd like nothing better than to see the Tigers win it again this year, as the first time that I got to see them in the World Series — in 1968 — they won. I was nigh on thirteen years old and their opponent in the Series? The St. Louis Cardinals. There is something about the idea of having the circle complete itself that I like.

Yep, Yep!

George Bush Impersonator

Shitting all over his country.

Marriage On The Rocks

Mon Nom

HowManyOfMe.com

There are: 28 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

Because I'm a copycat!

Senior Moments

Last night, as I made my first few steps out the door of the nearby grocery store, it occurred to me that I might have left the water running in my bathtub — flowing at a fast enough rate that surely, the tub was overflowing.

It was one of those moments of panic. I had begun filling the tub with pretty hot water with the notion that I'd go to the store and come back to a body-friendly temperature and a warm, steamy bathroom. I wanted to rest against a warmed wall. I wanted to relax immediately, without the annoyance of such chilly surfaces.

Suddenly, that notion evaporated with the vision of water spilling over the tub's edges, onto the floor and down to the downstairs neighbour's apartment. I imagined the apartment manager and maintenance crew standing with hands on hips in my bathroom, wondering where the hell I was and why there was water running in my absence.

I ran. Sort of. Being almost 51 and a good [sic] twenty pounds overweight, however, my mad dash to minimize damage lasted all of about three-quarters of a block. Time. Every second was another half-gallon of water, I imagined... water was everywhere, I thought. Four-letter words spewed forth as quickly and voluminously as the water I saw in my head.

After a brief slowing of pace for some gobbling of air, I resumed my trot home, getting only twenty or thirty steps closer before having to again catch my breath. I reached into my pocket and readied my outside door key. Another tenant slowed my progress momentarily by backing out then into her parking spot in the carport. I could see my bathroom lights were out, so perhaps my fright was to be all for naught.

In the door! Up the stairs! Key to keyhole! Into the bathroom!

These moments are coming way too often for my likes these days.

In this case, I had purposely waited and watched the water level of the tub reach a point high enough to warm it and the environs. I was absolutely certain I had turned the water off before I left the apartment, but I had no memory of reaching for the valves. None.

This scares me as I don't know to what I should attribute it. Was it because I was watching baseball at the same time I was getting dressed to go to the store? Was it because my mind was simply elsewhere while I prepared the bath? Or is it the early stages of some sort of dementia?

Death Of A President

A couple of days ago, I got hold of a copy of a film — Death Of A President — a British-made faux documentary.

First, I think that whatever uproar this film's concept might (have) cause(d) — an assassination of a currently sitting President — it's not so controversial in its rendering.

In fact, anyone who might have anticipated it to be a left-wing antidote to Path To 9/11 would likely be happy to know that it shines a rather heavenly light on Bush, since most of the eye witness accounts of the murder are told indeed by housemaidens, as Palamedes aptly described them. That is wherein I have problems with the film.

As an example, Bush's speechwriter speaks of his grace under fire when protesters manage to break through security barriers and, without further incident, come in contact with the presidential motorcade in downtown Chicago. ("...and he says, 'You know, Ellie, I don't mind them having their opinions, I just wish they could demonstrate peacefully.' ") Fuh!

After his death, the newly sworn-in President Cheney (if that thought isn't enough to dissuade a potential assassination of Bush, I don't know what is!) eulogizes Bush as if he were stationed somewhere between St. Peter and John the Baptist in heaven's heirarchy.

My stomach turned as I saw the funeral caisson being prepared for its trip down Pennsylvania Avenue, the riderless horse with the boots turned backwards in the stirrups, the Air Force flyover minus a plane in the formation — all this for someone who, in my estimation, has done nothing to serve his country.

There is also a bit of a nod of approval of the Patriot Act (as voiced by one of the law enforcement characters) and, as mentioned in the film's postscript, Patriot Act III becomes permanent law.

Chilling.

Perhaps, however, that's one of the points of the film — that an assassin's bullet is apt to raise Bush's status as a leader and (Jesus help me!) visionary, as well as throw us deeper into the throes of paranoia.

Or perhaps it's what we should expect (regardless of how historians actually see his tenure in office) in years hence when The History Channel does its version of the Bush administration — a pussyfooting around the facts so that ultimately, Bush appears presidential.

Fallen © Patrick T. Power

I don't see them fall
but fall they do.
Each time,
I imagine a thud
of skull on glass,
then carcass on wood.
In one surely unobserved instant,
a life that was...
vanishes, and in the 5/11 of a second
that it takes for my shutter
to open and close
I become
official biographer.

Free Hugs!

In light of all of the inhumane crap that comes with having to endure the Bush-Cheney regime, it is sometimes nice — if not necessary — to see something like this; to know that there remain good, kind, selfless people in the world.



Pass along this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr3x_RRJdd4

Thanks Kathleen!